Split Sole
by Heather68
Summary: SSHP. Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Split Sole  
**Author:** **faynia** and **stormypups**  
**Pairing:** Severus Snape/Harry Potter  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** approx. 15,000  
**Warning:** Non-magical AU, THIS PIECE OF FICTION CONTAINS SLASH M/M PAIRING  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and the WB. No profit is being made from this piece of fiction.  
**Summary:** Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.  
**A/N:** Beta'd by **lesyeuxverts**, **joanwilder** and **rakina**, three of the most beautiful women on earth.

* * *

Harry's lips pulled into a snarl as he glared at his name on the sheet of paper tacked to the theatre door. He wanted to rip it off and shred it, but he knew better. There was one thing Pierre Lavesoir hated more than bad dancers, and that was dancers who threw tantrums. Harry thought he was made of stronger stuff, but the temptation overwhelmed his normally rational thought. Casting a furtive glance around him, he tore off a corner of the long list. It made him feel marginally better.

His aunt would throw a fit if she knew what he was up to, but then, she rarely did anything but throw a fit when Harry went around visiting her. At least recently the visits had begun to affect him less, more of a mild irritant and source of amusement on an otherwise dreary Friday.

It didn't hurt that he never saw his uncle any longer and his cousin moved out years ago to live with Piers. It left Harry the chance to attempt to know his aunt, but it was as easy as pulling a crocodile's tooth and ten times less fun.

Pulling out his lighter, Harry torched the small corner of the paper and watched as it curled into ash and floated upwards towards the greying sky.

"If you've quite finished with the dramatics, get away from the door," a cool voice said as someone stepped from the shadows, startling Harry.

Bloody perfect. "Look, I haven't got any cash on me, so just bugger off, will you?"

"You think I'm here to rob you?" the man scoffed. "Thinking rather highly of yourself this evening, aren't you? I'm afraid your tights wouldn't fit, and by the looks of you, that's all you have worth taking. Run along, boy, I have business to attend to."

With a petulant frown Harry turned to face the man. "I'm not a boy." He'd leave when he was ready to leave, and he was definitely not ready to leave yet. "And just who do you think you are? The owner?"

The man had the audacity to look Harry up and down, his eyes lingering on a spot a bit lower than his waist. "No, not a boy. And if I were the owner?"

"I'd say I was well and truly fucked," Harry drawled, flicking the thumb wheel of the lighter at his side, drawing a flame every few seconds. It wasn't the first time someone had insinuated something about his masculinity, and he doubted it would be the last.

The door opened and Lavesoir stepped out into the street. "Ah, Severus, there you are."

Harry stiffened. Sickening dread curled in his stomach as he looked between the two men before him. "Shit."

_Bend over_, Snape mouthed to Harry before turning his attention to Lavesoir. "Pierre, I see you've posted your list," he said, walking past Harry to read the names on the door. He scanned the list and nodded. "Well done, good choices."

"Naturally." Lavesoir tightened the scarf around his neck before turning his unaffected gaze onto Harry. "Potter? I would have thought you'd have gone home by now."

"I was just..." Harry trailed off while gesturing weakly at the list of names.

"Potter, is it?" Snape said archly, running his finger down the list. Rather far down the list.

Snape smirked. "I see."

Harry scowled. "At least I'm on the ruddy list," he grumbled, fumbling with the zip of his jacket. Icy air blasted at his cheeks as a cruel wind picked up, swirling the misty rain around him.

"Shall we go inside, Severus? It's too bloody cold out here," Lavesoir said, dismissing Harry with a glance.

Snape nodded with an amused smirk firmly in place. "Let's."

As soon as the two men had their backs to him, Harry sneered and gave them both a two-fingered salute.

"I saw that, Potter," Snape said smugly, not bothering to turn around.

Harry gaped at the door long after the men entered the building. Soon his cheeks and nose began to burn and he headed back toward his flat. Rehearsal started the next day, and Harry wasn't sure he'd survive it.

* * *

Severus listened half-heartedly as Pierre went over his decisions for the show. Opening night would happen on schedule, which was all he really cared about. After all, he'd hired Pierre to take care of these details for him so that he could sit back and enjoy the end product. He merely nodded occasionally as the man talked while his mind went over other things.

"You should be happy that the English National Ballet company has pushed their production a week later this year," Pierre commented, leaning back in his chair, "giving us the early season advantage."

"Mmm," Severus agreed, his mind going back to his encounter in the alleyway. He'd never got involved with anyone in the company, and he had no intention of doing so now, though Potter was pleasant to think about. It wouldn't be remiss of him to use a comb perhaps, but otherwise he was attractive to look at, all things considered.

He was fit with a dancer's build, all lean muscle and controlled movement. Well, not so controlled when he was throwing a tantrum; that was merely amusing. There was nothing effeminate about Potter, which was also in his favor. Severus enjoyed the feel of stubble against his skin, not that he had any intention of being in any sort of position to find out how it felt with Potter.

Pierre snorted. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry?" Severus asked, turning his attention fully to Pierre.

"The Potter boy," Pierre said with a knowing smirk. He waved his teaspoon around, before pointing it between Severus' eyes. "You can do much better than _that_."

"Don't be absurd," Severus said dismissively. "I have no interest in the boy, I assure you."

"Good."

"Regardless, it is none of your business," Severus warned archly.

"It is if you intend to bugger one of my dancers," Pierre pointed out. "It'd go straight to their heads."

Severus snorted. "Have I ever interfered with one of your dancers? I don't need the headache of dealing with some prima donna who's trying to sleep his way to a better part in a production. Potter obviously can't control his temper and no doubt feels slighted that he is merely a bit player. Why would I want that?"

Pierre twisted his wedding band and shook his head. "Potter never was good at controlling his emotions. What did he do this time? He didn't upturn a dustbin, did he?"

"No, but I interrupted his tantrum before he could do any real damage. Does he have any real talent or is he honestly just a place filler?"

"He has the talent," Pierre admitted with a rueful smile. "Has it in spades really, but his stage presence is lacking."

"Shame. Ah well, enough about the talent. What is the rehearsal schedule?"

"Perhaps you should be asking when we're _not_ rehearsing."

"I need to bring someone in to go over the lighting system before we open. I'll not have a repeat of last year's disaster."

"You won't," Pierre said shortly. "I've already taken the liberty and hired a new technician to look over the wiring and lighting panel. And the last few days of rehearsal shall have the lights fully functional."

Severus arched his brow at Pierre. "Encroaching into my domain, Pierre? You worry about your dancers, I'll take care of the theatre."

"I _am_ worried about my dancers," he said. "I'm worried about them looking like fools."

"It's your job to ensure that doesn't happen. If there's nothing else, I'm going home. It's been a tiring day and I'm ready to see the end of it."

Pierre's shoulders rose and fell in an elegant shrug. "Edith is probably ready to strangle me as well. I wish I'd had the foresight to marry her in the spring, alas..."

"I'm surprised she married you at all," Severus said, rising to his feet. "Give her my regards."

A genuine smile broke across Pierre's face. "I always do whether you tell me to or not."

Severus snorted. "Goodnight, Pierre."

"Goodnight, Severus. Don't forget to purchase a new loaf of bread on your way home. I won't have you stealing my lunches anymore."

"Why do you think Edith gives you two sandwiches every day?" Severus asked over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Pierre waved a dismissive hand at him and headed in the opposite direction.

Severus shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked along the alley way and into the street. It was on a walk such at this that Severus and Pierre had met, more years ago than Severus cared to remember. They had bickered and bantered for a good hour before Pierre suggested they go out for a drink. Soon they were talking about the dance company Pierre wanted to put together, and where he wanted his primary theatre to be.

Over the years they had become friends, and Pierre's wife had practically adopted Severus into their family. She was forever fussing over him, and despite all of his protests, Severus found he rather enjoyed it. They had helped each other get through some horrid times, times he'd like to forget. Pierre was as close to a brotheras he'd ever had and no matter how much they bickered, it was how they communicated all of the important things to one another.

It was a system that worked well for both of them.

* * *

Harry sat on the polished wooden stage, only half listening to what Lavesoir had to say. It was the second time in two minutes they had been stopped, and Harry knew that it was going to be a very long day. His head hurt to think about it. The first week of rehearsal always went that way though. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

"Potter!"

"Yes, sir?" Harry jerked his head up to meet the director's eyes, trying to keep the dull flush off his face. Off to his side a few of the other dancers were smirking in his direction, and he wanted to do nothing more than slap that look off their faces. As if none of them had ever been called out before.

"The costume fitter needs to see you again."

Joleen groaned beside him. This was the second time in two days that he'd been pulled for fittings. It wasn't like he was in that many numbers. He was beginning to suspect the costumier just liked a chance to see him stripped down until he was wearing nothing but tights. It didn't help that they seemed to think his costumes needed to be the most frivolous, ugly things he'd ever seen. It had taken a lot of persuasion to keep his Christmas party costume humble enough that he didn't overshadow the principle dancers.

Harry got to his feet, brushing the dust off the back of his tights as he walked to the fitting room. Raking his fingers through his hair, he didn't see the person coming down the hall from the opposite direction until he crashed into him.

"Sorry," he muttered, moving around the person without a second look.

"It's a wonder you manage not to fall on your arse every time you take the stage."

Harry turned in frustration to face the man causing it. Ever since that night on the back step, Harry swore he was seeing Snape everywhere. It was maddening. He couldn't tell anyone this either; they would think he'd gone mental on them. "What are you doing here?"

Snape shrugged. "It is my theatre. What are you doing here besides bumbling about on stage and taking up space?"

"The costume department needs to see me...again," Harry added unnecessarily. He didn't know why he was telling Severus Snape this in the first place. The man had better things to do than listen to him whinge on about the idiocy of the costumiers.

Snape scowled in the direction of the fitting rooms. "Wasting my bloody money more like."

Harry couldn't stop the snigger from passing his lips. "I have to agree, sir." At least he wasn't the only one getting fed up with them. There were only so many times they needed to measure his waistline and inside leg. Yes, it was necessary to the first scene of the ballet, but that was only one bloody pair of loose-fitting tan trousers.

"Your costume fit perfectly fine yesterday, what more can they do to a pair of pants?" Snape asked irritably.

"I know, I--" Harry stopped speaking and stared at Snape, dumbfounded. "How'd you know what part of my costume is giving the stupid sods grief?"

Snape's expression changed for the briefest of moments before his features assumed their normal mask of indifference. "If I don't pay attention to detail, I lose money. Why, did you think I'd been ogling you?" Snape asked with derisive amusement.

"Nooo," Harry said, drawing out the 'o', "but I haven't dismissed stalking yet."

"You're thinking too highly of yourself again, Mr. Potter. I have better things to do with my time than follow your every move."

Harry rolled his eyes, consciously aware of the fact that he was only in a tank top and a pair of dark tights. "You know something, I'm already missing more practice than I'd like, so I'm going to go."

"God knows you need it," Snape replied, beginning to walk away. "By the way," he said, turning to look at Harry. "Do tell the costumiers that I am keeping track of their materials, and their costs," he said, smirking before walking away.

It took Harry a few seconds to pick his jaw back up off the floor and move ahead. Damn. Snape was going to kill him. He just knew it.

Throughout rehearsal that afternoon and the days that followed, Harry kept catching glimpses of Snape, either in the shadows of the theatre, high in the balconies or standing in the wings, silently watching practice, his face an inscrutable mask. More than once, he was certain that the man was watching him in particular, but knew if he asked him, Snape would merely accuse him of being egotistical.

Harry bowed deeply, one leg pointed out straight down to his toes. He took Joleen's hands, one behind her back and one against her stomach, before leading her in a tight circle. "Isn't that Severus Snape?" she asked when he dipped her low, her pin-straight brown hair almost brushing the floor. Harry's eyes flickered out across the audience and he gave her a tight smile.

"Yeah," he said, pulling her upright. "That's him all right."

"He's never come to rehearsals before," Joleen said, looking over Harry's shoulder as she rose high on her toes. "What do you suppose he wants?" she whispered as she twirled around once.

Harry flashed Lavesoir a blinding smile as he walked between them, adjusting elbows and legs as he went. "To watch me fall on my face," he answered, releasing her when Lavesoir clapped his hands together loudly to gain attention.

Joleen looked at Harry in question, but Lavesoir was demanding their attention. "Later," Harry mouthed to her before turning toward their impatient director.

"Gentlemen," Lavesoir began, eyes sweeping the large huddle of people. "Those of you not in the dance number itself should not be slouching in the corner. You are supposed to be constantly at attention during rehearsal or performance; you know better than this. I made you better than this. If you are not old, you do not slouch. Do I make myself clear? Good," he paused as if mentally recalling every horrible thing in the scene. Harry suspected the list was enormous and he was culling it for the worst of it. "Ladies. This is a Christmas celebration; try to keep in mind that this show was written in a time period when Christmas was a joyous celebration. People were happy. They smiled and enjoyed themselves. If you are not smiling when on stage, then I will find a way to make you smile, and I promise it will not be pleasant. Joleen, this goes double for you. Your character is on the cusp of adulthood, yet still very much a child, try to recall what it felt like during the holidays when you were small.

Joleen nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Very good, I will be watching you for this. And Potter?"

"Yes, sir?" Harry's palms began to sweat at the aggravated scowl Lavesoir aimed in his direction. He hadn't been doing that horribly, had he? No worse than any of the other male dancers at the very least. Of course, Lavesoir hated him, so the fact that he wasn't worse than any of the other men meant nothing.

"Whatever it is that is putting you in a sour mood, work it out," instructed Lavesoir. "Your dancing has been sloppy for the past week now. Fix it somehow, or I will replace you."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, sir."

"There is one last thing you all need to know before we break for lunch. The rest of the children will be entering our rehearsal today, so please be mindful of your blocking. Do not, I repeat, do not elbow one of these children in the eye or step on one of their precious little toes. I will not have a lawsuit on our hands, people. Not this early in the production."

Someone sniggered in the back of the crowd, but one fierce look from Lavesoir silenced him.

After rehearsal that night, Harry waited outside the back door to the theatre, his coat pulled closely around him. He felt like he'd been standing out there for hours whole waiting for Snape to leave, and his temper was rising with each passing minute.

When the door finally opened and Snape stepped out, Harry moved immediately to block his way. "Why are you watching me all the time?" he asked before Snape could get his key out of the lock. The man didn't so much as flinch, but merely continued locking up before turning to face Harry.

"You have spent how long in the cold, waiting for me to depart?" he asked, eying Harry with sharp black eyes. "If anyone is being stalked, Potter, it is I."

Harry's jaw clenched tightly together as he took a menacing step towards Snape.

"I am once again astounded by your ego," Snape sneered, pulling on his leather gloves. "All the world is not here to worship the very ground that you walk on, Potter. I have heard that you actually have talent, though I've yet to see it manifest, particularly considering the way you bumble about on the stage with all the grace of an elephant."

"You've never come to watch practices before," Harry insisted, sticking his hands under his armpits.

"Allow me to shatter your delusions. I have been to any number of practices on numerous occasions before you deigned to grace my stage, or have you forgotten that I own this building and finance the productions therein, which gives me a vested interest in what goes on here?" Snape answered, his voice like silk.

Harry bristled, but he couldn't let it go. "Yes, but not consistently day after day!"

"Perhaps you failed to notice the workmen in the building, redoing the lighting system," Snape said, speaking slowly as though he were talking to a daft child. "They require supervision and input during various stages of the process, and final decisions lie solely with me."

Harry laughed, running a hand down his face, wanting nothing more than to sink to the wet pavement. He was going barmy. That was all there was for it. Snape would never admit to anything and Harry was stuck running in circles, trying to figure out Snape's game and he was going to lose. He just knew it.

"Have I sufficiently explained my presence for you to understand that it is not solely for you that I am here?" Snape asked, an amused smirk causing his lips to curl slightly upwards.

"Not in the least," Harry answered, tilting his chin.

"Arrogant brat," Snape said, though there was little rancor in his voice. "Tell me, is this little obsession of yours the reason Lavesoir felt the need to call you to task? Is my presence distracting you?"

"If it was, do you honestly expect me to admit it?"

Snape shrugged. "If that is the case, there is little I can do about it. As I said, I have to be here regardless of whether you are present or not. Though I won't deny that I am curious about the answer to the question."

"Learn to live with disappointment," Harry muttered, kicking at a rock. Without waiting for an answer, he bumped into Snape on purpose before walking down the street. So much for Lavesoir's theory of dealing with his problems.

"I'll take that as a yes," Snape called, sniggering.

Harry didn't bother to turn around.

* * *

In the next week Severus took more care to stick closer to the shadows when watching rehearsals. He didn't understand the strange desire compelling him to watch Harry day after day, but he inevitably found himself standing in darkened corners unable to look away as he danced. It wasn't that he was an amazing dancer, he was decidedly average. Technically speaking, he had all the right moves, but there was something lacking in his performance. It was as though he was unable to connect with the audience, even one as small as the various workers and stagehands that were inevitably at the theatre.

It was late Wednesday afternoon and he was leaning against a wall backstage, listening to Pierre berate the cast for various and sundry flaws. Harry was looking irritable and for some odd reason, it made Severus smile.

In that moment, Harry's head turned in his direction, and though he knew the boy couldn't possibly see him standing in the dark, it felt as if he were looking right at him. It was almost unnerving. Soon the boy's gaze passed on, levelling at Pierre. Whatever his old friend was saying did not seem to sit well with Harry, who promptly turned and stormed off stage.

Severus pushed away from the wall and slipped through a doorway in the back, moving to intercept Harry before he could get very far.

"Shouldn't you be out on stage?" he asked curiously as Harry came through a door on the far side.

"Shouldn't you be counting ticket sales in your office?" Harry shot back.

Severus' brow arched as he looked down his nose at Harry. "Feeling peevish today, are we?"

"I did nothing," Harry seethed, leaning heavily against the shut door. "NOTHING to deserve that shite spewing from Lavesoir's mouth."

"What did he say?"

"I--He!" Harry's thin frame trembled in rage as he tried to piece together this truly dreadful line of words. "Why do I even bother?"

"What. Did. He. Say?"

Harry sighed, fists slowly unclenching by his sides. "It doesn't matter."

"Obviously," Severus replied, rolling his eyes.

"You know, I'm really beginning to hate you," Harry commented, deflating against the brick faced wall.

"Oh stop snivelling!" Severus said derisively. "Pierre pushes his dancers; it's what makes them great. Perhaps if you'd listen to him instead of throwing tantrums at every little criticism, you would actually learn something."

Harry's jaw clenched. "It's not that he's giving criticism. If it was just criticism I'd be fine."

"I'll only ask this one more time. What did he say?"

"Fucking bastard keeps trying to interfere with my life. I don't need his goddamned blabbing mouth to tell me that my life is screwed up, and I certainly don't need to hear about how I need to find myself some slut on the street, willing to put out for any man no matter how horrible his personality is. I just--" Harry cut himself off and Severus supposed that was for the best.

"The man is an idiot," Severus muttered.

"I know! He --"

"Oh shut up," Severus snapped, holding up a hand. "His point is valid, he's merely making a mess of getting it across."

"What!"

"Passion, Potter! His point is passion!" Severus poked him in the forehead. "You think too much! You know all the moves, every step, every bend, but you have no passion! There is nothing behind it. Technically, it's perfect, but there is no connection, no emotion, and until there is, you will never be anything more than a second-rate dancer."

"So what?" Harry demanded, twin splotches of red appearing on his cheeks. "You think I need to let some bloke stick it up my back end as well?"

"Of course not."

"Then what?" Harry challenged. "What would you have me do, then?"

Severus grabbed Harry's hand, tugging him against his chest. "Let yourself go," Snape growled.

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "What--"

With deadly accuracy, Severus captured Harry's parted lips in a hard kiss, tugging at the younger man's hair roughly, before shoving him away.

Harry stood blinking dumbly at him. With a scowl of irritation, Severus turned and stalked away, muttering something about foolish, arrogant children.

* * *

"Potter! Pay attention to where your clumsy feet are leading you!" Lavesoir snapped, halting the recording once more. "You are happy! Hap-PY!"

Harry tensed, but a hand on his arm stopped him from snapping back at Lavesoir. "Harry, just relax," Joleen murmured. "We'll try it again, all right?"

"I don't know why he doesn't just drop me from the whole performance," Harry grumbled.

"Because when you're focused, you do fine," Joleen whispered as Lavesoir turned his attention elsewhere.

Harry sighed, idly kissing her cheek on his way back into the line of dancers situated on the side of the stage. He straightened his spine, throwing back his shoulders and tipping up his chin. Out of the sixteen male dancers in this scene, he'd been the only one called forward every time. He knew he wasn't the only one messing up. Jerard was out of time each time they went over the scene, and Lavesoir had only told him off for it once. And it hadn't been fixed!

Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to focus. As the music started, he opened them again, waiting for his cue. A flash of movement from the corner of his eye distracted him, and as he glanced to the side, he saw Snape move to the center of the front row and sit down. Harry nearly missed his cue when Snape's eyes landed on him and he ended up stumbling across the stage.

"Oh for the love of--Stop!" Lavesoir hollered, just in time for Harry to land on his arse.

Harry was uncertain whom to glare at, Lavesoir or Snape. "Potter, what the hell are you doing?"

"I slipped, sir," Harry ground out through clenched teeth.

"On what? A strand of hair? Get off the ground and get back into position, all of you!" Lavesoir ordered, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows.

Harry got to his feet, ignoring the irritated murmuring of the dancers around him. He chanced a glance at Snape, only to find the man smirking in amusement. His fists clenched at his side and his eyes narrowed.

"Hate," Harry mouthed in an exaggerated motion before repositioning his feet into fifth position once more.

Snape wanted something from him, he wanted emotion, and Harry would give it to him in spades. Even if it killed him. And the glare he was earning from many of his fellow dancers promised it, swiftly, if he messed up again.

"Places," Lavesoir called, lifting the needle of the old record player. "Chins up." His eyes scanned the rows of young men. "Impress me."

The needle was lowered slowly to the revolving record, and music boomed through the empty theatre.

Lavesoir wanted happy, but Harry had nothing but irritation and anger to draw upon, though he managed to make it work for him. He focused completely on the music, letting it wash over him, losing himself in the sound as he danced. He didn't even notice the music winding down until Jerard fell off step again and bumped into him, sending him to the floor. Harry groaned, staring up at the catwalk above the stage. He gave the stagehand an exasperated wave when the guy smiled down at him.

"Jerard! You imbecile! Again, this time keep up!" Lavesoir gave Harry a slight nod, then turned away to restart the music. Harry scrambled to his feet and cast a quick look out into the audience, but Snape was gone. He shoved aside the irrational disappointment he felt from this and reclaimed his spot in the line, wondering just how many times they would do this scene until the women took the stage from them once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Split Sole  
**Author:** **faynia** and **stormypups**  
**Pairing:** Severus Snape/Harry Potter  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** approx. 15,000  
**Warning:** Non-magical AU, THIS PIECE OF FICTION CONTAINS SLASH M/M PAIRING  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and the WB. No profit is being made from this piece of fiction.  
**Summary:** Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.  
**A/N:** Beta'd by **lesyeuxverts**, **joanwilder** and **rakina**, three of the most beautiful women on earth.

* * *

Harry hovered outside Snape's office, wishing he had remembered to put his sweatpants back on before wandering down a deserted hallway in nothing more than a pair of tights. He tugged down his white tank top in a weak attempt at modesty, all the while glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming. Light shone beneath the door, telling him that Snape was more than likely in his office at the moment. The only problem was, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

Clearing his throat, Harry knocked on the door and waited for the gruff reply before opening it. Snape was bent over his desk, looking through documents with a scowl. "Yes?" he asked, not bothering to look up.

"You left," Harry blurted out, biting his lip in embarrassment.

Snape's head snapped up, a brief look of surprise on his face. "I had things to do. What are you doing here? Stalking me in my own office now?"

"Course I am, it's only fair since you get to stalk me through the rest of the building."

"Your arrogance is showing." Despite his gruff attitude, there was a note of amusement in his voice. "Sit."

"I'm sure it's not the only thing," Harry muttered, slouching into a chair before Snape's desk.

Snape set down his pen, resting his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. "So you're merely paying a social visit?"

"Only a short one."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, brow arching in question.

"I crave negative attention," Harry said with a wry smile.

"Then you've certainly come to the right place. You were stomping around the stage like some great ape today."

"You left. How would you know how I danced?"

"I saw enough," Snape said shrugging. "Once you had started dancing as you were meant to, there was no reason to stay. It's much more entertaining watching you bumble," he said, smirking.

"Ah, the bad vibes! Better than coffee or tea any day." Harry's eyes flickered to the circular clock behind Snape's head and he frowned. "These breaks are never long enough."

"Lavesoir will be not be pleased if you are late," Snape pointed out, his eyes searching Harry's face, though for what Harry couldn't say.

Harry snorted. "He's rarely pleased, full stop. I keep wondering how he stays married."

"His wife is infinitely patient and he dotes upon her. For the most part, she ignores his tantrums."

Harry grinned. "I'd better get going before they send out a search party and I end up suspended in the harness as punishment."

"An interesting thought…" Snape answered, eyes raking over Harry as he stood.

Harry laughed from the doorway. "You know, for a man who runs such a highbrow business, you're awfully lewd."

"This from the man wearing nothing but a leotard? You shouldn't flaunt yourself if you don't want people to look."

"All part of the job. Have fun filling out that paperwork, sir."

Snape waved his hand dismissively, and grinning, Harry left the office.

* * *

"Potter, you're late. Again."

"I was detained," Harry lied smoothly as he hopped up onto the stage, glad that the pit was closed off that afternoon. He didn't fancy falling face first into a pile of bassoons or a drum set. It'd certainly ruin his good mood.

"Probably off shagging that cute stagehand that was flirting with him earlier," Melissa supplied with a sly smile.

Harry scowled, gesturing rudely at her behind his back, before plastering on a fake smile for the director. Lavesoir was looking at him speculatively and Harry merely returned the look, unflappable.

* * *

Severus rubbed his eyes beneath his reading glasses as he shoved another stack of forms off to the side. He'd seen enough fine print in the past four hours to earn a break, the short one with Potter notwithstanding. That had been an unexpected interruption and he did not have to hold himself accountable for it.

Rising to his feet he stretched, working out the stiffness in his neck and back. When he left the office, his only intention was to stretch his legs a bit. He had no intention of going to the auditorium to watch practice. And he certainly wasn't going to seek out Potter.

"Severus, what are you doing down at this end of the building?" Pierre exclaimed, unsurprised. "I would have thought you'd be buried under a mountain of paperwork at this hour."

"I needed a break. Have you had any problems with the new lighting system? I've been assured that the equipment is top of the line, but I'll only believe it when I see it on opening night. I take it we're still on schedule?"

"A few minor set-backs, but none that weren't expected. Opening night should be a complete success, barring the fact that the stagehands have no idea where to place the sets."

"And the dancers? Are they up to par?"

"You would know better than I. I have not seen you so interested in a show since we first started our partnership."

"The holiday season always brings in extra revenue, but if the dancers are rubbish, we can kiss that revenue goodbye. I'm merely protecting my investment."

"Of course, and this has nothing to do with a chance encounter with the Potter boy two weeks ago."

Severus' face turned to stone. "What are you implying, old friend?"

"Implying?" Pierre snorted and shook his head. "Severus, I never imply things. I make declarations."

"I have better things to do than moon over one of your dancers."

"If you are not, you'd best set him straight. He's half lovesick most days and embittered the rest."

"He's been embittered since the day I met him, as for the other, I'm sure you're imagining it," Severus answered, a slight scowl marring his features.

"Severus, how long have we known each other?" Pierre asked lightly.

"More years than I'd care to count."

"And in those years, how often have I miscalculated the emotions of my dancers?"

Severus' anger seemed to deflate as he ran a tired hand over his face. "If the boy is lovesick, I assure you it's not over me. There is certainly no lack of willing partners, particularly to one so attractive, and I'm sure he's indulging himself elsewhere."

"Ah, so you've heard those rumours of Potter taking up with our stage manager, then?"

"What?" Severus snapped. "Who? Where on earth did you hear such a ridiculous thing?"

Pierre smirked. "Why should you care? It is none of your concern what those under your employ do in their personal lives."

"You're not the least bit amusing, Pierre," Severus ground out.

"On the contrary, I'm hysterical; you just don't have the right sense of humour to appreciate it."

"Nor are you clever," Severus informed him. "I have work to finish. Don't you have a ballet to produce?" he asked irritably.

"It is ten-thirty. I was coming to make sure you actually left tonight."

Severus sighed. "I'll be leaving shortly; I have a few things that need to be seen to before I can go home."

"If I come in tomorrow and discover you've been here all night, I will call your mother, and you know how Eileen loves me."

"You wouldn't dare."

"We have her on speed dial at home, my friend."

"Bugger off, Pierre," Severus groused, turning on his heel and stalking irritably back to his office.

* * *

Harry glanced across the darkened theatre and sighed. It had been a 'mercy' that Lavesoir was letting him use the stage to practice after hours without supervision. He suspected that his director thought him even more of a klutz now than he ever had before, which wasn't much of a stretch. Something had to be wrong with him. People didn't usually go from 'talented' to 'amateur' to 'Neanderthal with two left feet' in a fortnight, not without a serious concussion or amnesia, or a fugue state or something.

Joleen had left over thirty minutes ago, but Harry had continued on without her, trying to sort through whatever issues he was having that were holding him back. It had been remarkably unproductive. Harry had done fine with Joleen, every move he did was perfect, his leg was extended during every leap, his toe was pointed for every slow step, and not once did he trip over imaginary bumps on the stage floor. He lifted Joleen off the floor with little flaw in motion, setting her down gently as if she weighed nothing.

She had frowned at him, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner as she searched his face for what was bothering him, and when she found nothing, pecked him on the forehead and left. There was nothing wrong with him when it was just he and she alone on the stage. When no one was laughing at him or purposely tripping him up. The last incident was more of an irritant than the laughter. The laughter faded when the music played, but the 'oops, were you supposed to be there?'s happened whether the music was on or not. And damn it if Snape wasn't mocking him about lack of passion silently in his head the entire time.

This was his life. This was all he'd ever wanted to do since the first time he caught a showing of _Midsummer's Night Dream_ on the telly when his aunt and uncle were out of the house. Now here he was, in the second greatest dance company in London, performing in a beloved Christmas story, and he was dangling precariously close to the edge of madness.

Bending at the waist, Harry bowed low to the ground, stretching out one arm along his pointed leg, miming clutching Joleen's hand. This scene was the worst of all of them, so disorganized in the process, so many people who could bump into him and make it look like his fault, and it wasn't fair in the least. He did what he was supposed to do, he probably knew more about the ballet than others here did, but it didn't seem to matter.

Feeling as though he was getting nowhere, Harry sat on the lip of the stage, staring out at the empty seats of the auditorium. Snape had told him that he wasn't connecting with the people in those seats, that he was lacking in passion. The problem was, Harry had plenty of passion in one form or another when Snape was around, though whether it was anger, irritation or a desire to kiss the man, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Snape was in his mind and under his skin and he couldn't decide if he hated it or if he was enjoying it.

Harry kicked his feet back and forth, hitting the black felt backdrop of the pit which had been opened not even two days before, staring down at his black split sole shoes. He sighed before lying backwards, pillowing his head on his arms. The catwalk above him was empty, meaning all the technicians, stagehands and prop masters were gone for the night. Melissa's mocking comment about taking up with Brennen was laughable when all he could think about was Snape. God, what was he going to do? Harry closed his eyes, intending only to rest his them for a few moments before heading home.

It took less than three minutes for him to fall to sleep.

_"Potter, what are these?"_

_Harry gazed up at his aunt in confusion. In her hand was the pair of red, jewel-toned ballet slippers that he'd nicked from the local dance studio. They had a basket just lying there full of old shoes, and they had been so pretty he couldn't just leave them there._

_"Shoes?" Harry hazarded, trying to play innocent, but he should have known better. Before he could cover his head, one of the shoes was whipped against his face, knocking his head back against his cupboard._

_And he was falling,_

_falling,_

_falling._

_Light shone brightly in his eyes, brighter than the sun and hotter than he'd ever felt a light before to be. It followed him no matter how hard or far he tried to run from it. Harry lost his footing, slipping on the largest strand of hair he'd ever seen, and found himself sprawled spread-eagled on the ground. It was a wooden floor, a scuffed wooden floor. Booming laughter echoed off the sound panels on the walls and Harry found himself staring at a thousand faces, all of them pointing and laughing at him. He struggled to stand, only to find he'd landed on his tail and it was stuck in a hole in the stage._

_Toy soldiers lined up, encircling him with disapproving frowns and pointed muskets. On a silent command from the one in front of his face, they began to stab him with the ends of their rifles, cutting his skin like a hundred small paper cuts, and he couldn't escape, he couldn't stand and he cried because he was helpless to do anything. Tied to the stage with thread and stuck in a hole, and no one was going to save him. Why wasn't anyone helping him?_

_"Fool!" someone murmured, grasping him from behind, hauling him up and_... His eyes sprang open. Harry clung to the person holding him as if he were a small child. Horrified, he realized tears were streaming down his cheeks, being rubbed away into a crisp white shirt. Long black hair tickled his cheeks as he inhaled the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon he was coming to identify with Snape. Snape had him cradled in his arms and was rubbing small, uncertain circles over his back.

"Sorry," Harry whispered, trying to pull away, before he could make things worse than they already were, but Snape held him still.

"Drink this." Snape pushed a plastic cup into Harry's hands.

"What is it?" Harry asked, sniffing the small hole in the plastic lid. The warmth from the beverage inside seeped through the foam and into his skin.

"Spiced cider; drink."

Harry gazed up at Snape's face for a few seconds before taking a sip of the cider. It scalded the back of his throat, but the taste and warmth was wonderful as sensation slowly returned to his sore legs. After a few more sips, he set the cup down on the stage, tapping at it with his fingers.

"What time is it?" he asked, hearing voices backstage, followed by the sound of a power saw.

"Five."

Harry groaned, leaning against Snape in embarrassment. "I stayed the whole night?"

"If you've been tossed out of your flat, Potter, you could have slept on the couch in my office."

Harry heard the unspoken word in Snape's voice. Idiot.

"I'll keep that in mind in case I ever purposefully decide to stay here the night," Harry mumbled.

"Get up," Snape said, rising to his feet.

"What?"

"Get up; we're going to my office."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, grasping Snape's outstretched hand as he hauled himself to his feet.

"Because I'll not have this conversation with your... with the stagehands wandering about," Snape groused irritably.

Harry stared at Snape in shock. "My _what_?"

"My office," Snape ground out, grabbing Harry by the collar and shoving him toward the wings.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence through the empty corridors leading towards the administrative wing of the building. The electric lights above them sizzled and settled into a low hum when Snape flicked the light switch for his office. Harry stood in the doorway, watching as Snape sank down into his chair, pulling a folder forward.

"Stop looming and sit," Snape said, looking up at Harry. "And close the door."

Scowling, Harry closed the door and sat down on Snape's couch, staring at the man in silence.

"Which one is it?" Snape asked, returning his eyes to the folder. "What's his name?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?"

"No," Harry snapped, folding his arms across his chest, painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't had a chance to shower or change out of his dance clothing. His skin was sweaty and sticky, and he swore his skin was vibrating.

"Your paramour, what's his name?"

"My...do people even use that word anymore?"

Snape looked at Harry in stony silence.

"I haven't got a paramour," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Or a boyfriend, or a fuck buddy, or anything else. I've got you. Happy? Can I go home now?"

"You-- what?"

"Can I go home now?" Harry repeated, face heating up. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. _I've got you._ He must have hit his head during his nightmare; that was the only explanation. His only hope of salvation would be if Snape let him go.

"No, you may not. Explain yourself."

Harry slunk down low on the leather couch, unable to meet Snape's eyes. "There's no one but you."

"No stagehand, perhaps?" Snape asked coldly.

"What? No! What part of 'no one' are you having trouble grasping? And why does everyone think I'm shagging a stagehand? I haven't even looked twice at one since you kissed me, not that it matters since you've ignored me since then. I'd probably be better off if I did want one of them, at least then I'd have a chance!"

Harry's mouth snapped shut and his eyes went a bit wide as he realized what he'd said.

"I see."

"Can I go _now_?" Harry asked, staring out the window onto the darkened street below. "Rehearsal starts at seven, and I want to shower."

"No."

"What? It's not like you can keep me here," Harry said, looking incredulous.

Snape pushed back from his desk, his face an inscrutable mask. "Get up," he said when he reached Harry.

"Why?"

"Potter –" Snape growled, his voice dangerously low.

Harry only made it halfway to his feet before Snape was pulling him up and kissing him roughly, all teeth and tongue and need. Once Harry realized what was happening, he did his best to catch up, his tongue darting into Snape's mouth, tasting cider and an underlying flavour of mint. His fingers curled in the loose strands of Snape's hair that had fallen out of the tie at the base of his neck and he pulled himself closer until his hips were snug against Snape's thigh.

Snape's hands moved down to his arse, pulling him tighter against him, rolling his hips and moaning into Harry's mouth. It could have been minutes or hours later when Snape finally pulled back, and Harry couldn't seem to look away from his swollen lips. "That was...yeah," he said breathlessly.

"Now you may go," Snape replied, moving to his desk and sitting down in the chair.

"Bastard," Harry groaned, wishing he could will his pants into existence, seeing how his tights hid nothing. Snape seemed to have noticed this too if the self-satisfied smirk on his face was anything to go by.

"You have an hour to make yourself presentable, Mr. Potter. Use it wisely."

"I think I hate you," Harry muttered as he left the room, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone in the corridors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Split Sole  
**Author:** **faynia** and **stormypups**  
**Pairing:** Severus Snape/Harry Potter  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** approx. 15,000  
**Warning:** Non-magical AU, THIS PIECE OF FICTION CONTAINS SLASH M/M PAIRING  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and the WB. No profit is being made from this piece of fiction.  
**Summary:** Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.  
**A/N:** Beta'd by **lesyeuxverts**, **joanwilder** and **rakina**, three of the most beautiful women on earth.

* * *

The street hadn't changed at all. Harry slowed his car to a crawl as he turned down Privet Drive. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, or why it couldn't wait to the usual Friday meeting, but he found himself unable to turn around as he pulled his car to a stop in front of number four. His uncle's car wasn't in the driveway and that was all the incentive Harry needed to kill the motor.

He sank back in his seat, letting his hands fall off the steering wheel to his lap. His eyes roved over the dashboard, along the heater and arm rest, before falling onto the plain white envelope sitting on the passenger's seat. Lavesoir had managed to secure twenty seats in the first two rows in the center of the theatre. One for each of those with a named role. Harry had been given the last one with a reproving scowl that warned him that messing up meant he'd have to return that ticket.

It irked him that Lavesoir still thought so little of his dancing. Harry knew he'd been doing better over the last week and that Lavesoir was only still picking on him because he was becoming suspicious. Harry would try to stay away from Snape more often if it meant he wouldn't get picked on with such frequency, but the idea unsettled him.

He wasn't sure when his feelings for the owner of the theatre had changed, but he couldn't easily cast them aside either. He enjoyed being in Snape's company more than any other person's in the company, barring Joleen. Snape intrigued him, confused him, incensed him, and made him better. How was he expected to give that up? For the first time he'd found someone who could pick on him, and not truly mean it as an insult, but as a criticism. It meant Snape believed in him, something he'd never felt from anyone before, least of all his family.

Which begged the question, why was he still sitting before his aunt and uncle's house?

Harry was going barmy. He undid his seat belt, snatching up the envelope, careful to not crinkle it in his palm and slid out of the car into the chilled December air. He tugged his black jacket closer around him, burying his chin beneath the collar as he headed up the stone path to the front door. He could hear the telly on low volume in the sitting room, and Harry peered through the crack in the lace curtains to see if his aunt was sitting on the sofa.

She wasn't.

Gritting his teeth, Harry reached out, knocking rapidly on the front door and hit the door bell twice. He bounced on his heels and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. White puffs of air escaped his lips as he sighed, knocking two more times on the door.

Harry fingered the envelope in hand. He played with corners, first folding them down and then up again. If she wasn't home, he'd find someone else to give his ticket to. But, he wanted her there. His aunt, for all her nasty comments and harsh temper, had been the one to pay for his first few months of dance lessons, once she realized it would keep him quiet and out of her hair for two hours every other afternoon.

He owed her the courtesy of at least offering a ticket even though she'd never shown for any of his performances or recitals.

It soon became clear to him that she wasn't coming out or wasn't home at all. Glancing about, his gaze fell on a potted plant. It was the best he could do at the moment. He lifted the pot partially and slid the envelope half under it. So long as the ticket didn't get damaged by dirt, it would be safe.

His stopwatch beeped and in a panic he ran back towards his car. It was just his luck that he did one nice thing and he was going to be bloody late for rehearsal. Again.

* * *

Joleen was waiting for Harry by the water cooler with a curious smile. "How'd it go?"

"Lavesoir's insane!" Harry cried, grabbing a paper cup from the dispenser before hurriedly filling it with water. "Absolutely barmy!"

"So you got the spot?" Joleen asked with an odd mixture of worry and enthusiasm. Harry gulped down the water and crumbled the paper, tossing it into the bin.

"I got the spot. That's why Lavesoir's so bleeding insane!"

"Harry--"

"One week, Joleen!" Harry shouted. "He gave us a week to memorize someone else's part in case they fell down dead or landed in the hospital!"

"Harry, don't you realize what this means? It's the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"It's a nightmare," Harry said, shaking his head.

"You love it though."

Harry paused as he moved to get another cup and flashed her a brilliant grin. "Yeah, I reckon I do."

Harry went throughout the rest of the day in a kind of daze. He was fitted for more costumes, which was a bore but gave him time to think. The odds that anything would happen to Jonathan were slim to none, but still, Harry was officially his understudy. There was a chance that he would take the lead role in _The Nutcracker_. It would mean even more time practicing, but he'd seen the ballet dozens of times and watched Jonathan in the role for weeks. He wasn't concerned about knowing the part, but he was concerned he wouldn't be able to pull it off.

It didn't surprise him to find that he'd wandered back to Snape's office and was once more staring at the door in silent contemplation. Snape had to know that he'd been made understudy, but a small part of him was worried that maybe it was Snape's influence that had got him the part and it wasn't his own talent.

Harry knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He opened the door and peeked his head inside, but Snape wasn't there. He contemplated going away and coming back later, but later he might have be able to talk himself out of asking. Harry closed the door and went to the couch, stretching out and putting his feet up on one of the arms. His feet were killing him and it felt good to have them up.

The only thing keeping him on the couch was Snape's grey raincoat draped over the back of Snape's chair. The sky had opened up sometime during practice that day and seemed to have developed a steady leak of freezing water. If Snape's coat was still there, odds were that Snape was still around too.

When the door opened, Harry sat up straight, preparing to question the man the moment he crossed through the door. Only, Snape wasn't the one at the door.

"Potter? What on earth are you doing here?" Lavesoir asked, staring at Harry for so long that Harry had to wonder if some part of him were disfigured.

"I was waiting for Snape," Harry answered, feeling a bit like a caged animal. "I needed to speak with him about something."

"I see."

Harry hugged himself as he gazed up at Lavesoir, wondering what he thought of him now. "I can go if you need me too," he muttered, getting to his feet.

"Pierre, what have you done with--" Snape's words were cut off when he saw Harry standing in his office.

"Severus, a word?" Lavesoir said, still looking at Harry.

"I'll just be going," Harry said, sliding past the older men and out into the hall. His question no longer seemed important.

* * *

"Don't worry, Pierre, I don't get involved with your dancers," Pierre mocked, scowling at Severus. "Perhaps you can explain why Potter looked so bloody comfortable on your couch?"

"Perhaps he looked 'bloody comfortable' because the couch _is_ 'bloody comfortable'."

"God, Severus, do you know what the rest of the company will think if they find out? They'll think you got the boy the spot as understudy! I don't need a bunch of squabbling children this close to opening night," Lavesoir cried, pacing irritably.

"Let them think what they will. If they give you any grief, send them to me and I shall remind them which one of us pays their wages."

"What were you thinking? The boy is half your age!"

"I can assure you that he is not a boy," Severus replied, smirking. "Stop being such a prude, Pierre. It hasn't interfered with his dancing; if anything, he's more in touch with his emotions when he dances now. You should be thanking me."

Pierre sighed, settling into Severus' own chair, spinning it. "Thanking you is the farthest thing from my mind."

"As long as it doesn't affect the show, there is no reason for you to worry."

"Did you ever stop to think that it might not be the show I'm worried about?" Pierre snapped.

"If you're worried about the boy--"

Pierre held up a hand. "It's not the boy that I worry for, you daft git."

"So, your reputation is really worth more than--"

"Severus! Stop."

He did, allowing a small smirk to slide onto his face. "If I did not know any better, I would say you were worried for me."

"Stop being thick, it's not remotely clever," Pierre groused. "Just be careful. Edith will have my hide if you get your heart broken."

"I wasn't aware I had a heart."

"Severus, as nice as it is to see you happy, or reasonably happy, I do not want a repeat of L--"

"Do not speak his name," Severus hissed, eyes flashing in anger.

"Severus--"

"You go too far, Pierre."

"I cannot think of a time before this very moment when I had to do this, but I beg you, don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."

"What makes you think emotions are involved? He's young, reasonably attractive. Perhaps I'm merely using Potter."

Pierre snorted. "You can't fool me, old friend. If emotions weren't involved, you wouldn't bother with him."

"I don't need you to be my mother, Pierre. I already have one."

Pierre's eyes widened, then he began to laugh. "Oh, I would love to see Eileen's face when you bring that one home," he said, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face. "She's going to think you knocked up some bint years ago and that Potter is your son."

"My mother is blind as a bat and so long as Potter never spoke, she would not know him from a common harlot found in the gutters."

Pierre wiped his eyes which were still sparkling with amusement. "Just keep it away from the other dancers; I don't need any more melodrama, they create enough of it on their own."

"I doubt half your dancers know who I am by face," Severus pointed out, stopping Pierre from spinning the chair again with his foot. "But I am nothing if not discreet."

"I trust you to hold to that promise," Pierre said, standing up and dusting off his loose-fitting trousers.

"Can we get back to business now?" Severus asked, brushing past Lavesoir to take his seat.

* * *

There was a draught in the building. Severus scowled as he hugged his jacket closer around himself as he stalked through the halls. So far, none of the doors had been opened, but there was still half a building to examine. At first, he had thought the heater had broken, but it was rumbling and humming just fine in his office, as well as it should. The faint smell of cigarette smoke had him turning down a far corridor, muttering about imbeciles who didn't have sense enough to close doors in winter.

As he drew near the offending individual, he had to stop himself from cursing. Of course. "Potter?"

Harry jumped and tossed the cigarette into the street, looking guiltily at Snape as he tried to blow smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh for pity's sake, Potter, I'm not the headmaster of a school, you won't get detention, even if you are stupid enough to smoke those death sticks," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm paying to heat this building and you're letting in the cold. Either come in, or go out, stop standing in the doorway."

Harry flushed and stepped back through the door, letting it shut slowly behind him. "Sorry."

"Shut up," Severus growled, closing the distance between them and pressing Harry against the door, kissing him deeply.

All the protests and explanations died in a soft gasp.

Severus pulled back enough to begin kissing down Harry's neck. "You haven't been by my office," he growled, nipping lightly at the tender flesh. "Why?"

"Busy. Been busy," Harry said, sucking in a shocked breath. "Haven't had time to do anything but dance!"

Severus' teeth bit harder on Harry's neck. "Don't lie to me."

Harry blinked up at him, glazed-over green eyes trying to focus on his face. "About what?"

"You've got what you wanted," Severus growled, his fingers grasping the hair at the base of Harry's head. "You don't need me to open doors for you now. That is why you kept coming back, wasn't it?" he said, sneering.

Severus hadn't expected the slap that followed his words.

"You keep calling me arrogant, you egotistical asshole! I've been busy. Do you think I like dancing until my toes bleed? Because I really, really would rather be anywhere than on that stage getting yelled at!"

Severus' hand went to the side of his face, looking at Harry in shock. The brat had slapped him! He was the one being used and if anyone was going to do the slapping, it should have been him!

"You hit me!" his hissed through clenched teeth.

The last time someone had dared lay a hand on him was his father when he was fifteen years old. By then he'd been big enough to finally hit back and they'd ended up beating the hell out of on another. It was the last time his father had touched him and Severus had only wished he'd been able to do it sooner.

"And now that I have your attention, let me clear something up for you," Harry continued, undisturbed. "If I was only hanging around your office to get more 'open doors', don't you think I would have searched you out before the ballet was cast? Do you think I need you to further myself? Because if you do, then I don't even want to talk to you anymore, let alone let you touch me."

"Then why did you keep coming back?"

"Because I liked going back. Do I actually need more of a reason than I enjoyed talking to you?"

"Yes!" Severus snapped for lack of anything better to say. Harry had thrown him completely off guard. Severus hadn't expected him to do anything but stammer out denials before fleeing. The fact that Harry was still standing there, looking insulted and angry truly surprised him.

Harry sagged back against the wall with a flabbergasted expression. "Seriously?"

It was very seldom that Severus was at a loss for words, but this situation certainly qualified. He stared at Harry for a long moment before deciding he didn't need to speak at all. Instead, Snape grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him flush against him, searching his face for a moment before kissing Harry just as fiercely as he had before. He heard Harry hum in pleasure before his fingers returned to their original place in Harry's messy hair, pulling but not as hard.

Realizing that Harry wasn't going to pull away, Severus began to relax, softening the kiss into something slow and sensual, tasting and exploring Harry's mouth, moaning softly when Harry's tongue brushed against his own.

Harry pushed away first, face flushed and this time not from the cold. "Are we okay?" he asked.

Severus stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The last time he'd felt this off balance due to another person, it hadn't ended well for him. It had been an absolute disaster.

"I don't know," he admitted, frowning. He started when Harry latched onto his left wrist, twisting it towards him.

"I've got to go. How late are you staying tonight?"

"I'll be here when you're finished," Severus said. "Come by the office before you leave."

Harry nodded, rising on his toes before dusting an uncertain kiss over the flaming red spot on Severus' cheek that he'd struck earlier. "Bye," he whispered, before dashing off down the hall.

Severus watched him go, hope and fear at war within him. When Harry was out of sight, he returned to his office, locking the door behind him, needing time alone to think.

After reading the same paragraph four times without a clue as to what it said, he gave up, throwing the paper down on the desk and burying his face in his hands.

What was he doing, getting involved with a dancer? It was madness!

But he knew that he wasn't going to stop, that he couldn't. Potter was under his skin, invading his thoughts and his dreams in ways that made him feel like an adolescent. He wanted him, and more than that, he didn't want anyone else to touch him. There were certain measures he could take to prevent anyone else from touching the boy, a declaration of sorts that Potter was his property and there would be severe consequences to anyone else who so much as smiled in his direction, but that would involve him admitting he had any feelings.

He tapped his pen against his high-polished desk as a devious thought circled his mind. Perhaps a declaration wasn't so far off the mark. There were easier ways to lay claim on a person than words. Potter was hopelessly infatuated with him after all; he wouldn't even notice if Severus were to mark him as his. Not until someone had the gall to point it out.

A pleased smirk on his face, Severus went back to his paperwork, thoughts of Potter fluttering in the back of his mind.

* * *

Lavesoir glared at Harry when he leapt onto the stage, sliding on the wooden planks to his place. "Must you always be late from break, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, ruffling his hair, before fumbling with the large black buttons on his jacket.

Joleen grinned, helping him shrug off his jacket and toss it off into the front row of the audience.

"Ready?" Harry asked her, holding out his hand and smiling.

"You're in a good mood," Joleen replied, taking position in front of Harry.

Harry snorted, "I'm confused as hell, but oddly happy."

"You wrinkled your vest," she teased, smiling at him.

"And that should make the costumiers _oddly_ happy."

"Potter!" Lavesoir shouted.

Grinning at Joleen, Harry looked at Lavesoir. "Yes, sir. Ready when you are."

"I'm so pleased," Lavesoir groused, though he was looking at Harry weirdly.

Harry winked. "Good to know, sir."

"Harry!" Joleen cried, shaking her head in amazement.

"Dancers," Lavesoir muttered, closing his eyes, before gesturing towards the conductor of the orchestra.

For the first time in weeks, practice flew by and Harry was completely focused. He didn't miss a step and wasn't particularly upset when others around him did things to throw him out of sync. Not even Jerard could get to him tonight, which seemed to confuse the blond to the point he was getting yelled at more than Harry was.

Harry sank down in the front row, watching the women prepare for the dance of the snowflakes, happy for the opportunity to rest his feet and observe a portion of the performance.

He didn't look up when Joleen sat beside him, lacing her arm through his. "Will you tell me what happened during break?"

"I'd like to, but I can't," he said with an apologetic smile. "There's other people involved and I don't want to speak out of turn."

Joleen's blue eyes scanned his face for some hint of what he wasn't saying, but for once Harry was certain she wouldn't be able to discern his secrets. "So long as you are happy then," she settled on as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

After practice, and a speech by Lavesoir on the perils of opening night that was no doubt supposed to be reassuring but ended up scaring them all to death, Harry gathered up his things. He was waiting for the theatre to clear out before going to Snape's office. He'd just put his shoes into his bag when Lavesoir moved to stand beside him.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter," the man said, looking out over the nearly empty auditorium.

Harry's hand froze for a moment before he straightened. "I think I do. Is it going to be a problem?" he asked, frowning.

"Only if you hurt him, then you and I will have a big problem," Lavesoir said, turning his head to look intently at Harry.

Slinging the gym bag over his shoulders, Harry scowled. "Yes, _sir_."

Lavesoir sighed. "You underestimate your potential to hurt him," he said, running a hand over his face. "Don't let it distract you; I can't afford to have any more bumbling out of you."

Harry couldn't quite look Lavesoir in the eye when he said, "I understand, sir."

With a last penetrating look, Lavesoir crossed to the other side of the stage to speak with the conductor. "Sir!" Harry called, striding across the stage, wincing as his trainers pinched his raw feet. Lavesoir rolled his eyes, gesturing to the young woman conducting to wait a moment. "Can you leave the CD player?" he asked in a rush, bouncing on his heels to release some pressure on his toes.

"If you wish," Lavesoir said dismissively, taking the arm of the conductor and talking in hurried tones as he ushered her from the stage and toward his office.

Harry bit his lip as he watched them vanish out the side door. Once certain they weren't returning, Harry rounded on the small CD player they had been using earlier that morning before the orchestra had been set up, and plugged it back into its extension cord. He looked through the stack of CDs until he found the one he was looking for. He put it in to the player and checked the volume before smiling and going in search Snape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Split Sole  
**Author:** **faynia** and **stormypups**  
**Pairing:** Severus Snape/Harry Potter  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** approx. 15,000  
**Warning:** Non-magical AU, THIS PIECE OF FICTION CONTAINS SLASH M/M PAIRING  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and the WB. No profit is being made from this piece of fiction.  
**Summary:** Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.  
**A/N:** Beta'd by **lesyeuxverts**, **joanwilder** and **rakina**, three of the most beautiful women on earth.

* * *

"I said we would meet in my office, Potter. Not meet and then let you drag me to God knows where."

Harry laughed. "We're not leaving the building, I promise."

"If you're taking me to a room full of people, I may never forgive you," Snape warned. "I've had enough of dealing with the public for one day."

"No people either," Harry promised. He slipped his hand into Snape's and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it. "Trust me, all right?"

"I'm trying," he said in answer to Harry's plea.

Harry beamed up at him, before stopping in front of a door that led into the main theatre. He grasped both of Snape's wrists, thumbs settling over the thick vein there, stroking idly. "I finished it," he said excitedly.

Snape looked confused. "Finished what?"

"My solo!" Harry exclaimed with the widest smile Snape had ever seen. "The retelling of how Clara saves the Prince! It's the only part that isn't completely choreographed. It's...well...it's why I've been so busy recently."

"Show me," Snape said, his curiosity piqued.

Harry's eyes sparkled and he licked his lips, groping backwards for the door handle. "Yeah?"

"I assume that's why we're here," Snape said, chuckling. "Show me," he repeated, reaching past Harry to open the door, giving him a gentle shove. Harry stumbled backwards, teetering on the edge of the stairs, but instead of tumbling down to the next level of seats, he hopped down to the next step. "Show off."

"Only for you."

Snape rolled his eyes and made his way to the front row seats at center stage. "Impress me," he said, challenging Harry to do his best.

"You know, you're likely the only one ever to see this," Harry pointed out, trailing his hand along the railing lining the stage.

"Why work so hard on something no one else will ever see?"

Harry leaned back against the stage, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Because I don't want to make a fool of myself in the unlikely scenario that I will have to go on stage in Jonathan's place."

"You're an accomplished dancer when you stop thinking and just _dance._ Enough stalling, let me see what you can do," Snape said, nodding toward the stage.

Swallowing thickly, Harry hurried to the small flight of stairs leading up onto the stage. He skipped every other step in his haste, nearly tripping up the last one, before he stopped. He wouldn't do well if he kept running about like this. He'd fall on his arse like he always did, and he was better than that. Taking a deep breath, Harry squared his shoulders and strode across the stage with the intention of hitting the play button on the compact CD player and losing himself to his one-man audience for the next few minutes.

Deftly unlacing his street shoes, Harry chucked them off into the wings of the stage, wincing at the sores on his toes, before tugging out his worn ballet slippers. He realized his feet wouldn't be such a mess if he stopped practicing so hard, but knowing that didn't mean he would stop. Not now, especially since Snape wasn't mocking him and seemed genuinely interested in what he was about to do. He stepped into his split sole shoes and flexed his toes. Snape wouldn't have the patience for any other warm ups, and Harry felt they were unnecessary.

"Any day now would be appreciated."

Harry waved Snape off as he bent over at the waist in front of the CD player on the floor, glancing at the back of the CD to find the correct track. He could feel the strain of his muscles in the back of his legs at the stretch and tempered the grin that threatened to expose how much he was enjoying taking his time, when he already knew what the track number was to begin with.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrible tease?" Snape asked tersely.

"Not in the last few months," Harry said, grinning at Snape from between his legs.

Snape couldn't seem to take his eyes from Harry's backside. "You have a matter of seconds to start dancing, or you will lose your window of opportunity."

"And if I don't?" Harry asked, straightening up and looking over his shoulder.

"Then you and I will be doing a wholly different kind of dancing," Snape said, his brow lifting suggestively.

"Tempting," Harry admitted, tapping the play button with a toe. Soft music played from the speakers around the stage and Harry winked in Snape's direction before moving across the stage in a jazz run and getting into position.

Snape sat back in the soft chair, folding his arms across his chest, looking at Harry as if challenging him to impress him. Harry exhaled sharply, miming holding someone around the waist loosely as his gaze focused on the center of the stage. If he screwed this up he wouldn't only feel like an idiot, Snape would be there to call him one as well. He could make that work, though. His gaze slid over to Snape as the music swelled and settled once more, and he gestured to an invisible Joleen to wait there, before he crossed the stage.

Locking eyes with Snape, his body soon flowed into the melody of the song as he re-enacted the fight with the mouse king from beginning to end. He jumped, kicking his legs out in a high step, miming sword fighting and gunfire as he leapt and twirled across the stage, stopping before the invisible gathering around him, grinning cockily, before dropping to the ground as he fought the mouse king himself, struggling to breathe. His legs kicked out in an elegant arch and he sprung to his feet, slipping off one shoe in the process, gliding to stage left and imitated tossing his shoe across the stage at the back of the enlarged mouse.

The music swallowed him as he finished his dance, crossing the stage to where he had started, with an adoring look for the girl who would be standing there if it were an actual performance.

When the music stopped, Harry turned to look expectantly at Snape. For a moment, he was disappointed when all Snape said was, "Well done," but when he saw the look on Snape's face, he realized that he was saying much more, just not with words. Practically beaming, Harry walked to the front of the stage and gave a little bow before walking down the stairs to join Snape who had risen to his feet.

"Well, what did you thi--"

Before Harry could even finish speaking, Snape had grabbed him and was kissing him in a way he never had before and Harry returned the kiss wholeheartedly. It was warm and soft, and Harry never wanted it to end.

Harry didn't immediately recognize the sound of a voice clearing itself, but by the time Snape pulled back, the sound registered with Harry.

He spun around quickly, eyes widening at the sight of Lavesoir standing on the edge of the stage.

"This is hardly discreet, Severus," Lavesoir said, frowning at the two of them.

Harry slowly moved back onto the stage, intent on picking up his bag again as he skirted around Lavesoir. He didn't want to leave, but he needed to be ready in case Snape told him to go.

"Leave it, Pierre," Snape warned, and looked over his shoulder; Harry couldn't see any hint of embarrassment or regret on the man's face. He stood next to his bag, looking at Snape in surprise.

"You are swapping spit with a man twenty years your junior in a public setting and you're telling me to 'leave it'?"

"You seem to be under the misconception that I am not the owner of this establishment and cannot do anything I wish on my own property," Snape said coldly. "However, I will grant that this was not the place for such a display and that I will be more careful in future. Was there anything else?"

Lavesoir rolled his eyes, before glancing over his shoulder at Harry. "Good job, Potter. If--God forbid--Jonathan can't perform in the next two weeks, then at least I know you're ready."

"Thanks?" Harry said, edging nervously towards the plush red curtains.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to go home," Lavesoir said, looking between the two men. "I'd rather you weren't a complete disaster on opening night."

Harry looked at Snape, who shrugged. "That is up to you, Potter."

Harry flushed, shaking his head. "I'll go, but first…" Harry dug around in his bag, shifting through the change of clothing and a few different shades of ballet shoes, before finding the pen he was looking for. He scurried down the steps off the stage to Snape's side and grasped his hand. Before the man could work up a protest, Harry scrawled his mobile number across the back of Snape's hand in red ink.

"Are we in secondary school?" Snape asked as Harry attempted to put the pen away.

"Oh, shut up," Harry grumbled.

Before he could leave, Snape grabbed his arm and plucked the pen out of his hand. He then turned Harry's hand over and scribbled his own number on his palm before handing him the pen. "Goodnight, Potter," he said, fingers ghosting over Harry's hand before turning to Lavesoir.

"Pierre, a word?"

Harry gathered his things and left the theatre, continually glancing at his palm and grinning, too afraid to even flex his hand before he could get home and write the number somewhere else.

* * *

"Harry! Harry, how's my make-up!"

Harry whirled around, nearly smearing the light rouge he was putting on his cheeks. Joleen was running towards him. The blue ribbon untied on her waist fluttered behind her as she hurried towards him. Harry grinned, taking her hand in his. "You look fine, although..." Harry wet his thumb and told her to close her right eye. He swiped his thumb across her eyelid a few times, collecting the light brown eyeshadow on his thumb. "You look like you hadn't slept," he explained.

"I haven't!" Joleen said excitedly. "I'm always a nervous wreck on opening night, and I swear I didn't sleep a wink last night."

Harry spun her around, grabbing at the thick satin ribbon and tying it behind her back. "You and me both."

Lavesoir entered the costume area, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. Harry froze mid-knot, but when it was clear Lavesoir had nothing more to say than curtain time was in ten minutes, Harry proceeded to finish off the large bow, tugging it tight once to make sure it didn't come undone while Joleen was dancing.

As the curtain rose, Harry resisted the urge to search out Snape in the crowd. He knew he was out there somewhere and he couldn't afford to be distracted, trying to find him in the sea of people. He was just glad he didn't have to dance for the first ten minutes. It took long enough to acclimatise to the bright footlights lining the stage, coupled with the two spotlights up in the tech booth, without having to worry about tripping over someone and ruining the entire evening.

Joleen appeared nothing less than stunning as she took the stage, looking for the world like she was Clara at the Christmas party. Harry straightened his brown waistcoat, tugging at the white collared shirt beneath it, feeling rather ridiculous in it. His hair was gelled and combed down into some semblance of tidiness and he couldn't recall wearing a more starched pair of tan trousers, but the effect was there and he felt himself slipping silently into his role as Clara's beau, the one who would be turned over in favour of her nutcracker prince.

Of course, it wasn't the first time Harry had danced in front of people; he'd done it on numerous other occasions, but tonight was different. It was _The Nutcracker_, a classic by anyone's standard, and while his role wasn't major, he still felt the flutter of nerves in his stomach when it came his time to dance. The younger boys gathered around him as he prepared to lead them in the children's dance, his eyes shifting over to Joleen who was cooing over one of the dolls in the younger girl's arms.

Stomach twisting into ever increasing knots, Harry formed the peak of the circle to the front of the stage and began the dance as the music changed to a faster pace.

* * *

Severus stood at the back of the darkened theatre, his eyes following Harry's every move. He could have sat in any seat in the house, but he didn't want to be a distraction, so he stood far back from the stage. Overall, the performance of the entire company was stellar with only a few minor mistakes that the average audience member would never notice. He'd held his breath when Harry missed a step, but the dancer had quickly recovered and there was a small smile on Severus' face as he continued to move, not missing another beat.

Normally on opening night, he would be concerned solely with the whole performance and whether or not the reviews would be positive or negative. A negative review would mean a loss in revenue, but he was certain that would not be the case tonight. As the curtain closed, the crowd surged to their feet, clapping loudly during the curtain calls. Granted, many of the people there were related to or friends of someone in the company, but the reaction seemed similar across the board.

Smirking, Severus slipped out a side door and returned to his office, waiting for the crowds to disperse and for Lavesoir to finish his critique to the rest of the dancers. It would be at least an hour before he could seek Harry out, so he sought the familiar distraction of paperwork to keep him occupied. It didn't shock him when someone knocked lightly on the door before barging in without waiting for permission. Harry stumbled into the office, hair matted to his neck from sweat and softened gel and wearing a ridiculous smile. "Well? How'd we do?"

"You weren't horrible," Severus said, setting his pen on the desk. "I believe the lot of you will be able to fill the seats every night of the run, which means I'll get my investment back." He leaned back in his chair, an amused smile on his face. "Were you expecting praise and accolades? Roses at your feet, perhaps?"

"No, but a kiss would be appreciated for keeping your business afloat," Harry joked, hopping up onto the corner of Severus' desk.

Severus eyed Harry warily. "You're sweaty and that goop in your hair is a mess. Shower, and then perhaps I'll kiss you," he loftily answered.

Harry grinned and leaned across the desk, gripping the back of Severus' neck with one hand, pulling him closer. "Git."

Severus allowed Harry to kiss him for a few moments before pushing him away. "That's enough of that. Wash off the blasted make-up and shower and I'll give you a proper congratulatory kiss," he groused, grabbing a tissue from the box on his desk and wiping at his mouth.

"If you're congratulating me, I must have done well," Harry said, grinning impishly.

"Moderately well. You missed a step at one point, but I suppose I can't expect perfection," he told Harry.

"Careful, Snape, you're going to make my ego spiral out of control," Harry said, smirking.

"Your ego is already spiralling out of control, now remove yourself from my desk before you leave a stain."

Harry's eyes creased at the edges and his smirk dimmed. "My aunt showed up. I know I never really told you anything about my family, but...well, it was a big deal for me to see her there. It won't happen again though."

Severus looked at Harry in interest. "She won't come again, or you won't react in that manner if she does?"

"Neither, with the latter being the most likely," Harry responded with a lopsided grin.

Severus nodded. One day he would push him for more information about his aunt, but tonight wasn't about that. "So, do you plan on showering anytime soon, or should I come back later?" he asked, smirking.

"Are you going to take me out for a celebratory drink?" Harry asked, sliding off the desk.

"You're old enough to drink?" Severus asked with a straight face.

Harry leaned forward on his hands against the desk which brought his face closer to Severus. "If you're not nice, I might decide to plop myself into your lap and show you what a proper kiss is."

"You wouldn't!" Severus said, aghast.

"Wouldn't I?" Harry asked, grinning as he started slinking around the side of the desk. "Would you like to test your theory of what I would and would not do?"

"Don't you dare, Potter," Severus growled, pushing back from his desk.

Harry followed, stalking forward, until his knees brushed against Severus'. "Scared?"

"Appalled and more than a little disgusted," Severus said, cringing. "You'll be much more pleased with the results if you go and shower," he said, his voice dropping to a low purr.

"You're a cruel man, Severus Snape," Harry chided, pulling back. "And I think I might hate you."

"The feeling is mutual. Go and shower, brat. The sooner you do, the sooner we can attend to other celebratory activities."

"Does that mean you're finally going to put out?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Perhaps."

"Git."

"Shower!"

"Don't you want to join me?"

"Potter!"

"I'm going, but you'd better make it worth my while."

"I think I can manage that, but you'll never know if you don't leave!"

Laughing, Harry left the office.

As the door closed, Severus grinned, already making plans for their private celebration.


End file.
